Kansas

We used to think the world was flat,no dips or craters,like a land stretched to that endless linecrossing the horizon.A desolate sky meets a dull earth,as the heavens' finger drops from the blue void,pressing to the groundto pop the pimples of the landscape.One barn gone,a car swept away.The sky roils,its underbelly a writhing nest of nebulous snakes.The earth shivers to the bone.Emptiness clings to the soul of the sky.Famished by an earthly hunger,the sky licks the planet,clearing the fields.The sky moans in hunger,whipping the grass in anger,gnashing its teeth and howling to high hell,gorging itself on the mire.A freight train they say.The sound of the angry monster skyhell bent ondesecrating the face of the earth.But no.It is a beast with a will,and a yearning,to make that celestial sphereflat as a Kansas cornmeal pancake.Only cold skeleton-handed treesreach upward as if to beg itfor mercy.